Conversation with a Stranger
by xXSlasherXx
Summary: Meg is just sitting alone at a Starbucks when Stan Smith shows up, and the two engage in a friendly conversation about the low points of their lives. Warning: characters may seem a BIT OOC. T for some language. Meg/Stan friendship.


**Conversation with a Stranger**

Meg Griffin blew on steaming cup of coffee hoping that it would be cool enough as to not burn her lips. It was a typical fall day in Quahog. The air was cool and crisp, the leaves skittered in the icy breeze, the smalls clouds of fog formed at the breathing mouths of Meg and any other person who she glanced at as they walked by. Fall had always been her favorite season. Sitting at a booth in the crowded Starbucks, Meg let the relaxation of the cozy atmosphere sweep around her. Nearly all of the tables and booths were taken. Most of the occupants were college students, some elderly people casually reading the newspapers, and some just a bunch of pretentious hipsters on their kindle fires and MacBooks. She picked up one of the lemon squares she bought and took a bite.

It had only been five months since she moved out of the Griffin household and in with her Aunt Carol, but the relief and freedom that came with it made the days go by in a flash. It was nice to actually be in a house where she was wanted rather than being ridiculed, belittled, and flat out ignored. Meg looked down at the napkin dispenser and eyed her blurry reflection. She wondered briefly what the rest of her so-called "family" would have thought if they had seen their daughter now. Free from the stress provided mostly by the piece-of-shit father of hers, she stopped binge eating. She lost a good bit of weight, and her once short hair was now long and fell down past her shoulders, which lead to her abandoning her pink cap.

Meg would never forget the night tate finally made her move out of the hellhole that was her home. It was one evening at around eleven when Peter came home shitface drunk. Meg was up late prepping herself for an algebra test that was scheduled the following day.

It was all one big screaming blur to Meg – that or her mind just wanted to block out the horrible memory – but the main thing she remembers was being curled up on the floor, trying to block the punches that Peter was doing his best to deliver. It was through Lois' intervention that it all stopped. Once Peter was pulled off of her, Meg ran from the house through the front door and over to Joe Swanson's – neighbor and cop – home. Joe was horrified to see the bruises and bleeding scar above her eyebrow. After Bonnie cleaned Meg up, Joe, who was off duty at the moment, alerted his fellow police officers at headquarters to take Peter into custody.

Meg, beaten and broken, could only sob and cry in their guest bedroom. Kevin walked into the room and held Meg's hand and let her cry into his shoulder. What a cruel example of irony it was that the only way Meg got Kevin's attention was when she was a beaten and bloody mess. Meg, in her mind, wondered what it was she did to deserve such cruel treatment from Peter. Her father. Her bastard father…

The Swansons became very close friends with Meg after that night. Despite Peter being locked up, she refused to ever set foot back within the house. So, Joe asked Meg if she had any other relatives. Her first suggestion was her aunt Carol, who happily agreed to take care of Meg after she learned of her situation. She never accepted any calls from Lois or anyone else from that family after Peter was released from jail. She didn't want apologies or excuses; she just wanted to be free of them. Free from the people who made her life a living hell.

But she didn't want to get lost in a swarm of seething emotions that were supposed to be dead and buried. She came here to relax, and that was what she was going to do.

"_Ahem."_

Meg's head snapped up when she saw the tall man standing beside the booth. He had black, neatly-combed hair and a large cleft in his chin. He was wearing a blue business suit with a black tie. In his hand he had an Irish Cream latte.

"Um…" Meg set down her cup of coffee. "Hi."

The man awkwardly scratched the back of his head before he spoke again. "I don't mean to seem imposing but…all the other tables and booths are taken. Would you mind if I sat here while I wait for my wife to come back from the shoe store?"

"Oh. Sure. Of course not." Meg smiled. "Have a seat."

The man smiled gratefully. "Many thanks, miss…?"

"Meg," she replied.

"Ah, well many thanks, Meg." He slid down into the seat across from her. "Name's Stan. Stan Smith."

"It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Stan looked around the Starbucks. "So…are you here with friends?"

Meg sighed. "Oh no. I'm just here by myself for a little me time. I go out whenever my aunt gives me my allowance."

"Hmmm…" Stan scratched his chin and studied her. "You seem a little wary. Is everything okay?"

"I don't know…" she sighed, but then realized that she was talking to a man that she just met a few seconds ago about her emotions. "I mean….yes! Maybe! What's it to you?"

Stan chuckled and held up his hands. "No need to get so hostile, hon. Just don't like seeing a young girl with a load on her shoulders knowing that she can just talk it all out."

Meg stared unsurely at him. "I have a therapist, okay? I don't need one for a Starbucks, too."

Stan smiled. "You remind me a lot of my daughter."

"Your daughter?"

Stan nodded. "Hayley. Ah, how I miss her cynical remarks, even though they always made me want to tear her lips off. Hehe."

Meg propped her arms up on her elbows on the table and stared at him. Then there was a question that she wanted to ask. "Where is she now?"

Stan took a sip of his latte and shrugged. "No clue."

"What?"

Stan saw the questioning look in her eyes. "She ran away with her deadbeat boyfriend. Didn't bother to say where she was going. She just packed up her bags and told us all that she was leaving."

Meg suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for this man. "Oh…I'm sorry."

Stan sat the latte down. "As am I. We don't know where she is or what she's even doing at this very moment. But…as much as we worry, we know that we can't worry _too _hard. I've even told this to Francine – my wife. Hayley made the choice to run away from home…and we can't keep beating ourselves up for things that we had no control over. She's eighteen and old enough to leave. We all miss her, and simply hope for her safety."

Meg reached across the table and tenderly patted the back of his hand. "I'm sure she'll come back to you if she misses you enough."

"One can only hope," Stan replied, shaking his head.

"Well, at least she has a loving family that she can come to," Meg morosely stated.

Stan blinked. "What do you mean by that?"

Meg nervously drummed her fingers on the table. "Well…my family…my family never cared much for me."

Stan inclined his head.

"They were…verbally and emotionally abusive towards me. Especially my father. He always saw me as nothing more than…well…a mistake. A mistake that he and my mother should have taken care of years ago at an abortion clinic or something. One night he came home drunk and…and…he…he pounded me like a punching bag."

At that very moment, Meg felt the tears welling up in her eyes. She hastily wiped them away, but Stan had already caught glimpse of them.

"Meg?"

"I'm fine," she sniffled. "I just…haven't spoken to anyone about it in a while. It's just something I try to forget about."

This time Stan touched the back of Meg's hand. "You know, if there's anything that being married has taught me it's that keeping things in like that just isn't healthy. It's like a release of hot air to talk to someone about it. Just to let it all out."

He did have a point; plus, Meg did feel something similar to relief at talking about the demons she did her best to keep locked away.

"Thanks, Mr. Smith."

"Please. Just call me Stan," he said tenderly.

"Are you from around here?" Meg asked.

Stan shook his head. "We're just here visiting some relatives."

"Ah." That sucked. Meg wouldn't have minded having Stan as a neighbor. "Well, I hope you enjoy things down here in Rhode Island."

"Truth be told, things were pretty dull," Stan chuckled. "But, it's pretty peaceful. A nice get away from my job."

"Oh, where do you work?" Meg asked.

A sly sneer crossed his lips. "I'd tell ya, but then I'd have to kill ya."

Meg smiled. "Well, I've been close to dead before. All those years I took the abuse from my so-called family…but I finally managed to get out. And that's the one thing that I'm proud of myself for."

Stan nodded. "You should be."

"Oh, Stan! There you are!"

Meg looked up to see a blonde-haired woman who was carrying several shopping bags.

"Ah, Francine!" Stan slid out of the booth and pulled the woman close to him by his waist and gave her a peck on her forehead. "Finally finished orgasming over stilettos, I see."

"STAN!" Francine slapped his shoulder before looking at Meg. "Ah, who's this?"

"Francine, this is Meg," Stan said. "Meg, this is my wife, Francine."

Meg stood and held out her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Francine said, gingerly shaking her hand and the looking down at her watch. "Oh, my. I'd love to stay and chat but it's almost six, Stan. We have to hurry."

Stan nodded. "Understood."

Francine hurried away. "I'll be waiting in the car!"

Stan turned to Meg. "Well, Meg, it was pleasure talking to you."

Meg replied with a friendly smile. "You too."

Stan pulled out his wallet after retrieving his latte and put a twenty-dollar bill on the table in front of Meg. "Have yourself a cappuccino on me."

He winked and waved at Meg before walking towards the exit.

Meg looked down at the bill and couldn't fight the grin that was forming on her face.

Perhaps people weren't as shitty as she once believed.

_Fin._


End file.
